His Cold Disgust, Her Pain

Chapter 1

Word Count: 758 | Released on: 30/06/2025

oss the floor. It did nothing to warm the chill that had settled deep in Seraphina

her voice a raw whisper. "You h

ainst the window. He looked down at her not with love, not even with

ow and dangerous. "How can I believe

he sheer force of his anger pressing down on her. Her h

forever. He had traced the line of her jaw and sworn that no one would ever harm her, that he would always be

e had said then, his voice thick with emotio

colder, even more brutal. The man who had made that promise wa

armth, were now hard and unforgiving. He reached out, not to comfort her, but to grab the col

of a withered flower, branded into her flesh. It was a symbol of sham

of shame and terror washing over her. His fingers ti

. "Explain how my wife, the noble Lady Seraphina, c

led, horrific secret, one she had sworn to keep to protect him. If he knew, it would des

spered, the words cho

ith rage. "You can'

ned into pure loathing. He shoved her away from him, and s

enom. "To think I ever touched you. To think

t only seemed to fuel his fury. He took a step toward her, and she scrambled backward, her heart seizing with

a silent scream caught in her throat. But it nev

voice dripping with contempt. "

n her, his posture r

ak door behind him. The sound echoed in the sudden, crushing silence, a definitive end to everything they had ever been. Seraph

Chapter End

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His Cold Disgust, Her Pain

Max. A Fantasy

“The cold moonlight painted shadows across the floor, doing nothing to warm the chill that had settled deep in my bones as I knelt before my husband, Valerius. Just a year ago, he had promised me forever, swearing he' d always be my shield. Now, he looked at me with cold disgust. "Explain this," he demanded, tearing open my nightgown to reveal the withered flower branded into my shoulder – a symbol of shame, a mark of the lowest. Tears welled, blurring his furious face. I couldn' t tell him the truth, a horrific secret I' d sworn to keep to protect him. He shoved me away, calling me soiled, then laughed cruelly, refusing to "dirty his hands" on me, before storming out, slamming the door on everything we were. Driven by desperation, I tried to carve the mark off, nearly taking my life before my maid, Clara, stopped me, suggesting a brutal herbal remedy instead. The agony was blinding, but I endured it, for him, for us, for the love I yearned to reclaim. With a raw, weeping scar where the brand once was, I found him, hoping to see a flicker of the man I knew. He stared at my wound, then laughed, a short, ugly sound. "A scar is just as ugly as a brand. It proves nothing." My hope shattered, he delivered the final blow: he was marrying my cousin, Isabella, in a week. The physical pain from my scar was nothing compared to the gaping wound he' d torn in my chest, leaving me an empty void.”